


Hope you stay tonight

by sunofthemoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16255334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunofthemoon/pseuds/sunofthemoon
Summary: Set post season 7: It's an ordinary Thursday where Regina babysits Hope, and Emma comes to fetch her after her shift at the station. But this Thursday has a bottle of wine andMiss Swan, you can't drive after drinking alcohol, and maybe they both love each other but they're too chicken to say it.Written for Swan Queen Week 5: Tropes & Cliche's (refitted for sequel) / Day 5: best friend romance.





	Hope you stay tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This was just something I started writing because I wanted to write something & then it ended up being an actual story.
> 
> A few notes on the story:  
> \- Killian and Emma are divorced in this  
> \- Hope is Killian and Emma's biological child (I'm not big on Regina having any biological kids because I think it takes away from her infertility & the struggles she must've had with that.)  
> \- This is a post Season 7 fic, but because I haven't watched season 7 of OUAT, I don't refer to the timeline or the events in canon a lot.  
> \- This takes place within one (1) night. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for clicking on this story, and I hope you enjoy!

 

Hope has finally been put down to rest for the day, Regina breathing out a sigh of relief. She can’t ever remember Henry being this active, but then again, his terrible two’s were so long ago that Regina can only piece together the memories that she can laugh at now— looking at her newly decorated walls however, Regina knows that it will be a long time until she can reach the same place with Hope.

 

Reaching down to pick up a few scattered toys to put away, Regina perks up at the sound of the doorbell, a smile unconsciously blooming on her lips. Usually this time of the day would mean Emma picking Hope up to take her home, but recently something had shifted. There isn’t any hurried goodbyes and an arms length between them anymore, not since the divorce, not since _want to stay for a glass of apple cider?_ And _got anything stronger?_

 

They’ve come a long way, that’s for sure.

 

“I brought wine,” is the first thing Emma says when Regina opens the door, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she shakes her head at the lopsided grin Emma sends her way.

 

Regina takes the offered bottle of wine and says, “you didn’t have to.”

 

Emma shrugs, as if she would have regardless, and removes her jacket to hang up on the hooks by the front door. “As much as I love your cider,” Emma starts, fingers running through her hair to shake out the curls, “we should try something different tonight.”

 

Regina rolls her eyes affectionately, adjusting Emma’s jacket so that it hangs on the hook properly. The last time it had fallen to the ground with a _thump_ , Regina had startled hard enough that the last bit of apple cider had sloshed across her very nice, very _expensive_ sweater. “Are you saying that I’m not adventurous, Miss Swan?”

 

Now it’s Emma’s turn to roll her eyes, the bottle of wine being snatched back and clutched to her chest. “Firstly, I’m offended at the _Miss Swan_ , and secondly, yeah… maybe you aren’t that adventurous now that you’re the Good Queen of all the Realms.”

 

“I’m quite sure that being the Good Queen of _all_ the realms makes me very adventurous, my dear. If you recall, _I_ was the one who went to the dragon territory last month to sign a treaty.” Regina takes the bottle of wine back from Emma, her shoulders straight and steps light as she walks away with the wine like it’s some sort of prize. Emma laughs lightly and follows her, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen as she watches Regina reach up on her toes to fetch two wineglasses.

 

It’s easy between them, light and filled with only the expectation to be _happy_. Emma can’t remember the last time she had walked into her house without a weight resting on her shoulders, titles sitting there whispering in her ear about every little insecurity she has about being a saviour, a wife, a mother. Inside Regina’s home however, Emma finds sanctuary.

 

“Need some help?” Emma asks after watching Regina for too long, her eyes lingering on the strip of skin that’s displayed when Regina tries once again to reach for the wineglasses, sweater rising up with her to leave Emma with a view that makes her mouth go dry.

 

Regina sends Emma a dirty look, but not before raising an eyebrow at Emma’s rose dusted cheeks, green eyes a shade darker than she remembers. “I can manage just fine, thank you.” Regina isn’t short, no matter how Henry or Emma may say otherwise—besides, when Henry had been but a boy and Emma wasn’t in their lives, she could reach things perfectly. (If there was a step stool involved, well… no one needs to know about that.) Regina emerges triumphant after a few hops, pointedly ignoring Emma’s snickers until she has the two wineglasses in her hand with a smug smirk fixed firmly upon her lips.

 

The sudden urge to kiss the expression off Regina’s face surfaces like it has since Regina offered to babysit Hope, that one time offer becoming a regular Thursday night thing.

 

“Congrat—”

 

“Don’t even say it.” Emma snaps her mouth shut, biting down on her bottom lip to stifle her laugh. Regina fishes around inside one of the drawers to find a corkscrew, her movements smoother with Emma’s eyes on her as she uncorks the wine and allows it to rest for a minute.

 

“Was she good today?” Emma asks, filling the silence between them with one of their favourite topics—Hope.

 

Regina smiles as Emma expected, the skin around her eyes crinkling as she shakes her head. For all of those legends describing Regina as some villain, she doesn’t look like one now when she pours Emma a glass of wine, bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she sorts through her thoughts. “She’s a spitfire that one,” Regina says fondly, red splashing into the second wineglass with a little less precision than the first. “Henry was calmer when he was young, but Hope certainly keeps me on my toes.”

 

Reaching for her glass, Emma smiles at Regina, always ready to listen when they broach the topic of Henry. She’s got those fake memories from New York safely tucked away, but it doesn’t compare to the play by play of Regina’s stories that become that much more meaningful with the way Regina’s eyes light up. The memories become real with Regina’s voice to narrate every little naughty and thoughtful thing Henry had done before Emma had been dragged into his life.

 

Shrugging her shoulder, Emma takes a sip at the wine, the beverage sweet against her palate. “As long as Hope is not too active that she finds herself in another realm too often.”

 

Regina raises her glass at that, taking a sip as she scoffs at the hollowness of the house that is present whenever Hope isn’t here. She had seen Henry a few weeks ago with Jacinda and Lucy in the Enchanted Forest, but he’s made it perfectly clear that he’s an adult now with an actual job to record all these stories—neither Emma nor Regina want to get in his way despite the open invitation to visit, of which they are careful not to violate. “Or at your parent’s,” Regina adds with a roll of her eyes.

 

“To be fair,” Emma argues, following Regina out of the kitchen into the study, wine bottle held by its neck, “I’m not the best swordswoman, and Ry loves having his grandfather young enough now to have a real sparing competition with.”

 

“Don’t you mean a videogame challenge?” Regina’s eyebrow quirks up, her hand patting the space next to her on the couch that Emma takes without hesitation.

 

Unable to hold back her smile, Emma tops off her wine and leans back into the pillows. Soon, she’ll take Hope back to her dark, dingy house that reminds her too much of her days as the Dark One, of the minutes before that when she had taken a blade to the darkness to save the life of a woman who sees her as nothing more than a friend—and why wouldn’t Regina? After all, Emma had gotten married to a man she had gone to hell for, had his child and lived an entire lifetime in a few years with him before breaking it off. Sitting here every Thursday with Regina babysitting that child doesn’t mean anything.

 

It _doesn’t._

 

“He’ll come around,” Emma finds herself saying, setting her wine down on the coffee table in front of her. Regina lets out a disapproving sound, shoving a coaster underneath the glass with a tiny glare sent Emma’s way. Emma smiles sheepishly until Regina sits back against the cushions of the couch, sipping delicately at the red liquid that stains her lips. “Give him some time to get used to everything, and to, _you know_ , be a teenager.”

 

The responding groan is enough for Emma to laugh, rubbing at the spot that Regina swats at. “I was never this bad as a teenager,” Regina says, as if she were a normal child with homework and too many friends.

 

“Neither was I,” Emma whispers, remembering the days spent in foster homes until she had run away to live within a yellow car instead. “I’m glad our kids aren’t the same as we were.” _I’m glad they didn’t experience what we did,_ goes unsaid, but Regina’s eyes shine as if she’s heard Emma’s thoughts regardless.

 

Fingers curl around her arm, warm digits pressing into her skin. Emma represses a shiver, only now feeling just how cold she is with the warmth of the person she adores seeping into her pores. There’s so much history here, too many ties to simply snap it all away with a confession that might break them apart. “We’ve got good children,” Regina agrees, “and they should be grateful to have a mother like you.”

 

Regina does this, complimenting Emma on things she doesn’t think she deserves praise for, and Emma has long since learned to accept them. Swallowing, Emma covers Regina’s hand with her own, squeezing as they sit in comfortable silence.

 

She doesn’t realise she’s staring until Regina looks at her with a frown, swallowing down the last sip of wine as she holds the empty wineglass between her fingers. Lifting her chin up in a minuscule nod, Regina silently asks if Emma is okay. Emma shakes her head slowly, closing her eyes to stop herself from looking at Regina with anything more than what might be considered friendly—although the image of Regina’s outline still burns behind her eyelids.

 

Emma says, “I should go,” releasing Regina’s hand with just a hint of reluctance.

 

“Before the bottle is finished?” Regina asks, a slight whine in her voice that Emma thinks she imagines.

 

Inhaling, Emma licks her lips before she pulls a smile up onto them. “I’ve already taken up too much of your time—”

 

“Nonsense.” Regina stands to her full height, a larger than life personality packed within a petite frame. “Besides, you’ve had two glasses of wine and I will not let you drive Hope anywhere.”

 

“So you’re just worried about Hope then?” Emma teases— _flirts_.

 

Regina smirks, bending at the waist to pour more wine into their glasses, picking them both up to offer one to Emma. “Stay,” she says softly, “no one is using the guest room anyways.”

 

Snorting into her wine, Emma takes the statement at face value, unwilling to delve into the plea that might’ve had her heart clench with hope. “Just tonight,” she promises, watching with satisfaction as Regina takes a healthy gulp of her wine, smiling just a wider at the prospect of company.

 

…

 

Emma checks in on Hope halfway through her second glass of wine, deeming the time spent with Regina enough to let the other woman know that she doesn’t doubt her parenting capabilities. Hope sleeps snugly in Regina’s room of all places, barricaded in the middle of the queen sized bed by pillows surrounding her from all sides.

 

When Emma bends to place a kiss to Hope’s forehead, her child smells more like Regina than she remembers—not the spicy perfume or floral shampoo she uses, but the smell that is uniquely Regina. Emma will never admit to it, but that one time spent as Princess Leia in the past, she had gotten close enough to Regina in all her queenly glory to catch a hint of her scent, whispered threats dancing across her cheeks and chin. Regina smells the same now, no realm or curse taking that away from her.

 

“If I ask, she’ll probably adopt you too,” Emma whispers, placing one more kiss to dark hair before she ambles downstairs to where the sound of something popping echoes throughout the house.

 

There’s a smell that’s familiar, a hum that sounds far too contented to belong to a queen that rules every realm. “Popcorn?” Emma asks, arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the doorway to the kitchen, a stance that is all too familiar.

 

“Unless you want to wake up with a hangover tomorrow?”

 

“I’m not the one who can’t handle my alcohol.”

 

Regina scoffs, flipping her hair away from her face. “Oh _please_ , I had three times as much to drink as you, and I couldn’t exactly dance it out.” Turning to take the popcorn out of the microwave, Regina misses the crestfallen look that falls across Emma’s face before she rearranges her features into something a little more teasing.

 

“ _You?_ _Dancing?_ That I’d kill to see.” Emma keeps her thoughts about their last, and only visit to a bar together. Killian had disappeared with Captain Nemo, and Emma had fallen into a hole of self-loathing. Emma can’t imagine that she must’ve been very good company back then, not if Regina couldn’t dance without worrying after Emma’s feelings, of her self worth attached to a pirate who wasn’t entirely worth everything in the end.

 

Putting the popcorn in a bowl that Regina has to bend to retrieve, Emma’s eyes quickly averting at the sight presented before her, she smirks at the question. “I might not like those stuffy balls with practised steps—but I like to shake it out every now and then.”

 

Laughing, Emma grabs a fistful of popcorn, a few kernels dropping down onto the counter. “I didn’t peg you for a Taylor Swift fan either.”

 

“And I didn’t peg you for morose drunk, but here we are.”

 

“That was one time,” Emma defends, stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

 

Regina leans forward on her elbows, picking up the fallen kernels to place them aside. “Then we’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” Regina smirks when Emma chokes on the popcorn, pushing her glass of wine toward her friend who sips at the beverage with red eyes.

 

Emma bounces back easily though, asking with too much confidence, “us going out only one time, or me not seeing you dancing?”

 

Regina raises her eyebrow in response, retrieving her wineglass from Emma’s hand and sipping on the drink from the same space Emma’s lips had been not only moments before. Had Emma been fourteen and hyper analysing everything, then she might’ve considered that something of a kiss. “Us going out only once,” Regina answers, “and if you’re lucky you might get to see me dance before that.”

 

She tries to wink, she tries really hard, but Emma can’t help but snicker at the way both of Regina’s eyes close at the attempt. It’s _cute_ , the sort of thing a woman without magic or a terrible past might do, and Emma aches for a sense of normalcy where there isn’t any curses, or ex-husbands, or clones of themselves running around. It would be simpler, yes, and perhaps they would still be fighting over the custody of Henry who is now a grown adult, but surely it would be _something_ more than this in between they constantly find themselves in.

 

“You should wink more often,” she says instead, drawing herself out from her thoughts of normal lives and Regina dancing.

 

Regina pauses with a handful of popcorn halfway to her mouth, eyes narrowing as she tries to read Emma’s suppressed smirk. “Idiot,” she hisses, throwing the handful of popcorn at Emma who barely contains her giggles.

 

She expects Emma to return the favour, but Emma only picks up the fallen popcorn and adds it to the pile of discarded kernels on the counter. “So,” Emma drawls, pulling out a piece of popcorn from her hair, “when am I going to see you dance?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina almost throws another fistful of popcorn at Emma but restrains herself. There are only so many miracles to be had in a day, and Emma has already picked up the mess once—asking for more than that will be a stretch. “Do I detect an ulterior motive, sheriff?”

 

For the second time that night, Emma chokes on her popcorn, this time flinging the remaining kernels still in her palm at Regina for good measure. When the wineglass is slid across the counter for her to sip from, Emma doesn’t think much of the way Regina watches her, of how they drink from the same glass, leaving wine stained kisses across the rim where the other woman has sipped from before. This is intimate, comfortable in a way that they haven’t experienced in a long time.

 

“You are a choking hazard,” Emma coughs out, handing back the glass that’s topped off with the bottle of wine that appears with a flick of Regina’s wrist. If she really wanted, Emma could call for her own glass, but she sits there on the kitchen stool, content to share a glass with her best friend, the other mother to her children, Hope’s—Hope’s _babysitter?_

 

“If legend is to be believed, then I’m just a hazard,” Regina responds, her voice sultry and as smoky as the wine.

 

Sweeping away the third lot of useless popcorn, Emma bides her time as she debates whether to reach across the counter and pick off the kernels that stick to Regina’s sweater. “ I thought that was your other half,” she says, reaching over the counter anyways, her fingers delicately picking up the popcorn from Regina’s sweater, the one kernel stuck between dark locks by her neck, dusting away the flakes of salt that cling to her shoulders. Regina tenses under her touch, swallowing thickly instead of responding, and Emma doesn’t dare question the sudden silence.

 

When she’s done, satisfied that she’s been too close to Regina and gotten all the popcorn out, Regina looks at her with a curious expression; her head tilts to the right, her lips purse, and her eyes narrow slightly before she blinks the look away. It’s utter childishness that Regina blames when she throws another handful of popcorn at Emma, no smile on her lips as she watches the kernels bounce off the grey spencer Emma wears over her signature tank top.

 

“Happy now?” Emma asks, not blinking at Regina’s antics, not doing anything more than sitting there as Regina throws another fistful of popcorn at her, raining down buttery fluffs of white. Regina wants a reaction, wants something more than just—

 

Her wrist is grabbed, trapped between Emma’s fingers that hold her arm lightly before she can throw another lot of popcorn at Emma, the treat sticking out of the gaps of her fingers. The popcorn is pulled from her hand, her digits uncurling as Emma’s free hand brushes through hers, the kernels transferring from one palm to the other.

 

It’s a simple action really, but Emma does it so slowly, so delicately, that Regina leans into her just a little, hoping for something more than just being a babysitter. “Not yet,” she answers in a whisper, Emma’s question still lingering in the space between them even as they pull away.

 

Smiling, Emma eats the kernels one by one, releasing Regina’s arm with only a hint of reluctance. “Then that makes two of us,” she says, watching as Regina curls her fingers into a loose fist instead of dusting the salt from her palms.

 

…

 

The atmosphere is solemn afterwards, proving that Emma is a morose drunk despite only two and a half glasses of wine in her system and too much popcorn mixing with the bitter red.

 

They clean up quickly, sweeping up the discarded popcorn and putting the half bottle of wine in the fridge for a later time. Emma’s excuse of needing to be at work the next morning is legitimate at least, just as much as Regina’s excuse of work if she bothered to use it.

 

“I’ll go make up the guest room,” Regina says, making a hasty exit from an already too clean kitchen. Emma finishes off the rest of her wine from the study, washing out the glass and leaving it to dry beside Regina’s.

 

This entire night had been a product of nothing more than needing some form of company, using Hope as an excuse that isn’t large enough to hide the want in Emma’s eyes. She allows her gaze to linger for too long, allows her fingers to trace Regina’s skin when she’s near enough to warrant a touch, and sometimes when the night is lonely enough, Emma thinks up scenarios where instead of Killian, there’s Regina.

 

Not that Killian is in the picture anymore, Emma reminds herself, not when he visits Hope once a month when he takes a break from idling out at sea, sobering himself up to present an appropriate front or lest he get punched in the face again by a very irate David.

 

Deeming her time spent in the kitchen over, Emma makes her way up the stairs toward the bedrooms, an excuse on her tongue to leave the mansion with whatever dignity she has left. Although when she rounds the corner, the sight of Regina already dressed in a silk pyjama set has her gaping for the words that escape her.

 

“Do you want to borrow a pair of pyjamas?” Regina asks, her voice soft, tentative like she knows what Emma was about to do, her fingers grasping tightly onto the handle of her bedroom door as if to stop Emma from taking Hope and running back to her house.

 

“I didn’t think about sleepwear,” Emma admits sheepishly, gathering her hair in her hands to pull over her shoulder. Regina watches the movement with dedication, never averting her eyes no matter that Emma speaks directly to her.

 

“We have magic,” Regina reminds her, that fact so easily forgotten, where before Henry’s frantic pleas to leave the craft alone it would have been second nature to use.

 

Shrugging her shoulders, Emma takes in a deep breath and releases the tension in her back. She hasn’t destroyed her relationship with Regina yet, and borrowing a pair of pyjamas won’t topple the carefully placed blocks of Jenga they play today. “All magic comes with a price,” Emma whispers back. “I’ll borrow a pair,” she clarifies when Regina makes no move other than to frown.

 

A hint of a smile shines through, soft, delicate like the dim light that spills forth from Regina’s room when she finally opens her bedroom door. “Let me see what fits,” she says, stepping into the threshold of the room, Emma following behind her without thought for privacy or personal space. How many times has she been inside this room since their first Thursday with Regina watching Hope?

 

“I don’t think any of my pants will be long enough,” Regina says from inside her closet, bending at the waist to thumb through various shades of grey silk. At the sound of Regina’s voice, Hope sighs and turns within her blanket, kicking the floral away from her with dramatics she certainly didn’t get from Emma.

 

Stroking back some of Hope’s hair, soothing her so that she settles again, Emma wills herself not to look at this picture from the outside—not with Regina emerging from her closet with a very skimpy negligee, not with Emma reclining against the pillows of the bed with her hand over Hope’s chest as she sleeps. She’s too comfortable here, and that thought doesn’t make her panic—which only makes her panic about her lack of panicky feelings. “Seriously?”

 

“Unless you want to go to bed in your underwear, this is the best I can offer you.” Emma is pretty sure Regina is messing with her, because when has Regina ever forgone magic (even to alter the length of some pants) due to an overused saying that they take too lightly sometimes.

 

“Wearing that is as good as sleeping naked,” Emma says dryly, giving Regina a blank look despite the smile that threatens to return to her face at Regina’s surprisingly excitable expression.

 

Waving the garment in her hold, the fabric shimmying with Regina’s hands, she thrusts the negligee out at Emma with a raise of her eyebrows. “You’re too chicken to sleep naked with me in the house, so this will have to do.”

 

If Emma were eating anything, she might’ve embarrassed herself further by choking a third time, but she finds her composure when Hope sits up suddenly, breathing hard with the tell tale signs of a cry.

 

“Hey baby,” Emma says gently, stroking a soothing pattern over Hope’s back, the child looking up at her as if she were looking at a stranger. “It’s alright,” Emma tries again, “Mommy is here.” Hope climbs into her lap then, taking a few moments to settle into Emma’s chest. She’s still breathing fast, her fingers clutching onto Emma’s spencer as she surveys her surroundings.

 

For all the times that Emma has seen Regina interact with Hope since she returned from the Enchanted Forest to be crowned Good Queen of all the realms, it still amazes her as to how easily such a figurehead can sit on her knees to provide her undivided attention to any child that crosses her path. “Did you have a bad dream?” Regina asks Hope in a soft voice, Hope nodding against Emma’s shoulder in response. “Want to tell me about it?” Hope shakes her head in the negative, but does reach out to clutch at Regina’s finger that travels down her nose. Her breathing begins to even out, but she keeps a hold of Regina’s finger just as tightly as she clutches onto Emma’s spencer. When Regina tries to remove her finger from Hope’s grasp, the toddler snaps her eyes open in alarm, frantic as she sits up from Emma’s chest as if she’s lost something precious.

 

“Look, look!” Regina exclaims, taking Hope’s hand within her own, “I’m right here, little one.” Emma wonders whether this Thursday arrangement is for the best when Hope seems so attached to Regina that she can’t be soothed from a nightmare without her. As much as Emma may crave Regina in ways that go beyond the territory of best friend, she can’t let her child yearn for the Good Queen in the same ways that could get her just as hurt.

 

“She knows where she is,” Regina says, directing her words toward Emma when Hope finally falls back to sleep. “That’s why she looked for me I suppose.”

 

Emma says, “it’s fine.” But it _isn’t_ fine, not when she can clearly see the beginnings of a makeshift family form before her eyes. “And I’m not chicken, I’m just considerate.”

 

Regina raises her eyebrows at Emma, that teasing smile on her face returning. “How so?”

 

“Well,” Emma drawls, trying to shift Hope back onto the bed, the toddler squirming in her grasp. “If I had to sleep naked, you wouldn’t be able to handle it, your majesty.” They’re threading on thin ice here, skating too close to a surface where they’re more than just friends, but Regina doesn’t seem to mind, not when she lets out a low chuckle that hits every pleasure point Emma has.

 

“I’ll take Hope whilst you change then—for my health of course.” Hope is handed over without protest, Emma scoffing at the remark that isn’t as flirty as she would have liked.

 

“You say it like you don’t check out my ass in my jeans every time you get a chance,” Emma says unthinkingly, Regina’s eyes dropping to the curve of Emma’s backside on instinct.

 

Throwing the negligee at Emma, Regina shifts back onto the bed with her hand still trapped in Hope’s hold. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only wonder how you manage to walk without circulation to your legs is all.”

 

Emma throws Regina a look over her shoulder, picking the negligee off from the floor where it falls— _accidentally_ of course, and gives Regina the perfect view of her very fit behind. “I’ll be in the bathroom,” she says, cheeks burning with a blush that she refuses to let Regina see. This isn’t like her, pushing the envelope of appropriate when there’s too much to gamble on when it comes to Regina. She’s only been divorced for a year and a half now, these Thursday nights a very recent occurrence that’s not enough to warrant such forwardness.

 

Berating herself for her foolish actions, Emma slips on the silk negligee that fits snugly over her chest, breasts half spilling out over the lacy lining. The silk is soft, sensual against her skin in ways her denim and cotton can never compare—this feels like Regina’s soft touch in comparison to Killian’s awkward hold.

 

She can’t go out looking like this, but if she doesn’t come out of Regina’s bathroom, then she’ll be called a chicken for the rest of her life. Groaning whilst she folds her clothes, Emma finally steps out from the bathroom, chuckling at the sight that greets her.

 

Regina sits with her back against the headboard, blankets around her waist as she holds Hope to her chest. The mighty Good Queen’s head lolls to the side, soft snores enough for Emma to tiptoe toward the pair and try to gently life Hope off of Regina’s chest. The task is easier said than done, however, because Regina has always been a light sleeper, fingers grasping Emma’s wrist before she can make a move.

 

“You fell asleep,” Emma whispers, ignoring the glassy look in Regina’s eyes that seem to settle on Emma’s chest.

 

“I did not,” Regina denies. “I’m very much awake.” Snorting, Emma shakes her head as she tries to move Hope again, but the child is too much like Henry when it comes to Regina, soft cries enough to know that Emma is fighting a loosing battle.

 

“Just sleep here, Emma.”

 

“But you made up the guest—”

 

Regina sighs, cutting Emma off from an excuse that will put a bit of distance between them. She’s wearing a silk negligee that smells like Regina, there’s three glasses of wine in her system, and being near the object of her affections, let alone sleeping next to them is a bad idea. “Okay,” Emma finds herself saying, rounding the bed to slide under the undisturbed blankets, the heat from Regina making her shiver.

 

... 

 

It’s been about ten minutes of Regina laying flat on her back, Hope snuggled into her side as Emma’s breathing ranges from erratic to too slow. “Are you awake?” Regina asks, because it’s silent, and yet stifling, the type of environment that she isn’t used to when Emma is around—not anymore, not until Neverland and working together to defeat villains that aren’t her.

 

“Yeah,” Emma whispers back, turning on her side to face Regina. She’s beautiful like this, the dim light from outside making her hair look like a halo around her pretty head. They’ve always been just a little more than friends, just a little more without ever being brave enough to find out what that is. Tonight, with a child sleeping between them and the feeling of completeness in her bones, Regina is afraid that if Emma comes to find out what she feels, she might run and never come back.

 

“What’s it like?” Regina asks, tensing at the feel of Emma’s hand over her own where it rests on Hope’s back, “being the saviour, I mean?”

 

Emma chuckles, shifting closer toward the pair. “What’s it like being the Good Queen?” She asks back, answering with a question that doesn’t help Regina in the slightest. Perhaps she should ask David about bravery if she wants to learn some, because the woman she wants a family with sleeps in her bed, and she’s yet to even hold her hand. “Is there something else?” Emma probes, giving Regina the opening she needs, one she’s hesitant to take.

 

Swallowing, Regina turns toward Emma, turning her palm up over Hope’s back so that she can intertwine her fingers with Emma’s. “No,” she lies, squeezing Emma’s hand, “there’s nothing else.”

 

Beside her, Emma exhales, closing her eyes and willing sleep to come. There’s no real reason for Regina to hold her hand like this, but Emma isn’t going to let her imagination run away with her. This is what friends do, right? And so what if she leaves her hand where it is, so what if she’s so comfortable that she falls asleep without a second thought as to what this might mean.

 

:::

 

“Mommy!” is the first thing Emma hears when she’s rudely awoken the next morning, a warmth pressed against her back.

 

“Hope?” she asks, reaching for her child to bring her back into the blankets. There isn’t any thought for the time, or whose arm is around her waist, not when it feels so comfortable that the threat of sleep is too close again.

 

“Mommy!” Hope whines again, Emma jerking awake just as the arm around her waist reaches out to tug Hope back into the blankets. Pressed against Emma’s chest, Hope squirms as Regina leans over Emma, leaving a trail of kisses along Hope’s face to which the toddler only giggles and kicks at. “Mommy, help!”

 

Emma acts on instinct, shielding Hope from the kiss attack despite laughter spilling from her own lips. It’s domestic, the type of playfulness that she had envisioned having when growing up (how many letters to her older self, how many lists of the perfect family to Santa, how many wishes made upon fallen eyelashes.) This image is perfect, too perfect with Regina resting her body weight on Emma as she tickles Hope’s side, rich laughter filling the space of a too large room that she shouldn’t be sharing with her best friend in the first place.

 

“Good morning,” Regina tells Hope, her voice light and the darkness under her eyes all but gone.

 

Turning away from Regina and only peeking out from under Emma’s arm when she deems it safe, Hope offers Regina a toothy grin and says, “hungry,” as if that’s supposed to be an adequate greeting.

 

Laughing at the response, her shoulders shaking with the effort to tame her giggles, Regina nods as if Hope has said something very important. “Then we’ll just have to fix that right up, now won’t we?” Poking Hope in the stomach so that she giggles once more, Regina watches as the child untangles herself from Emma to scamper down to the floor instead. That impatient need for food is all Emma, Regina thinks, throwing off the blankets still wrapped around her legs to follow.

 

“You don’t have to—I can make breakfast,” Emma says, and Regina is acutely aware of the woman sprawled across her bed, golden hair having lost some of its curls, but the way it drapes over their pillows is enough for Regina to conjure up rather explicit images.

 

Tracing every curve of Emma’s body with her eyes, her skin tingling when she rests upon the ample bosom spilling out of the too tight negligee, Regina takes a step back in alarm. “N-no, that’s—I mean.. .” she clears her throat, running a hand through her hair before she escapes the room altogether.

 

Emma blames Regina’s reaction on their sleeping arrangements that had become too cosy, nothing more than that—nothing that might be considered the truth when she turns over to steal a little more warmth from Regina’s side of the bed. Soon, she’ll wake up, go to work, take Hope with her, and then…

 

And then she can keep pinning after her best friend who deserves so much better than her.

 

…

 

She doesn’t shower, and that isn’t because she can’t magic up some underwear and clean clothes, but because she had fallen asleep again. Emma has always been a light sleeper, unable to adjust to a new bed when years of being shipped from foster home to foster home had taken its toll on her. Today however? That doesn’t seem to deter her mind or body when she has to race down the stairs with last night’s clothes on because Regina’s bed had been heavenly.

 

“Waffles.”

 

“’affles.”

 

“ _Wuh_ —waffles.”

 

“No,” Emma hears, rounding the corner to the kitchen where Hope sits on Regina’s lap, chewing messily on a waffle. “’affle.”

 

Regina laughs at that, light and carefree in a space where a few hours ago she had been throwing popcorn at Emma for the sake of it. “You truly are your mother’s daughter. So stubborn.”

 

“Pretty sure she doesn’t get that from me,” Emma argues before she can stop herself. Regina turns toward her with a smile, eyes sparkling as she takes in Emma’s dishevelled appearance. She says nothing, but Emma can read the look in her eyes that begs the sheriff to take a walk of shame just to complete the look.

 

Scoffing, Regina pushes a plate of waffles toward Emma, adjusting Hope on her lap. “ _I’m_ not this stubborn, so it must come from you.” The waffle only gets halfway to Emma’s mouth before she turns to look at Regina, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. “I mean—”

 

“You mean Killian?” Emma says, trying and failing to save Regina from admitting something without meaning to. Hope isn’t _theirs_ , no matter how many Thursdays Regina spends with the dark haired girl, but had they really been caught up in such a fantasy that Regina is starting to believe it now? As much as Emma’s heart sings at the possibility of something more, giving herself false hope is worse than any other fate.

 

Regina simply shrugs, smile falling from her face as she wrestles with her inner demons. She had blown it, and those Jenga blocks come crashing down around them as Hope finishes off her waffles, face being wiped by a solemn Regina who removes the bib around the toddler’s neck that had thankfully managed to save the clean outfit underneath.

 

Regina tells Emma, “you’re going to be late,” handing Hope over with her carry bag, one last stroke of dark hair before she shoves the idea of Hope being hers deep, _deep_ down alongside the yearning of having a relationship with Emma.

 

“Thank you—for last night.”

 

Regina can’t help but chuckle at that, leading Emma and Hope to the front door. “Say it louder, dear,” she teases, so easy to fall back into familiar patterns when it comes to one Emma Swan. “I’m sure the neighbours would love to hear how thankful you are whilst standing here in last night’s clothes.”

 

Emma blushes prettily, hiking Hope further up her hip until she nods at Regina in farewell, buckling Hope up into her car seat with every intention of leaving. It’s that sight of losing something, even if it’s just Emma and Hope until next Thursday that makes Regina do something foolish. “Emma, wait!” she calls, holding up her hand.

 

She doesn’t have anything that Emma has left behind, nothing of Hope’s that lingers in her hallways, so Regina panics and rummages around in her fridge until she finds the ingredients for the lasagne that Emma loves. There isn’t time, but there is magic, and before Emma can get antsy enough to drive off, Regina reappears with a lunchbox of lasagne and a fork wrapped up in a paper towel.

 

“You made this?” Emma asks when Regina hands the container over, nervous and on edge.

 

Shrugging, Regina licks her lips and rolls her eyes. She’s been too vulnerable already, and so it’s only fair when she crosses her arms over her chest with every intention of looking offended. “I won’t waste my time explaining how an oven works to you.”

 

“You used magic, didn’t you?!”

 

“Oh don’t sound so smug, I just want our police force to be—”

 

“Thank you,” Emma whispers, pulling back from the space where she had kissed Regina’s cheek, the skin there turning a pretty shade of pink. If Emma wanted, if she bothered to deem herself worthy of Regina’s affections, she might’ve thought more of it, she might’ve kissed lower, closer than appropriate.

 

Regina reaches for her, fingers sliding up to cup her cheek. “Have a good day,” Regina breathes, tongue swiping along her bottom lip before she takes the plunge, Jenga blocks already scattered around them, Regina stepping over the wooden pieces as she brings her lips down over Emma’s.

 

The kiss is chaste, sweet in a number of ways that Emma could misinterpret if she wants, but she finds that she doesn’t want to, not when an ordinary Thursday night can amount to her best friend slash child’s babysitter being a whole lot more than that. “You busy this Friday night?” she asks, lighting up at Regina’s laughter.

 

Stepping back, Regina waves at Hope through the window of the car, a smile on her lips that simply will not budge no matter how many times she tries to tamp it down. “I’m free any day of the week for Hope,” she says, bringing her fingers up to her lips to check whether the kiss had been real.

 

“Just for Hope?” Emma asks worriedly, that container of lasagne still in her hands.

 

Looking at her friend, Regina exhales softly, her gaze tender as she turns toward Emma. “If you bring Hope, you might wear my negligee again and that sight was…” trailing off, Regina bites down on her lower lip, Emma’s eyes following the movement.

 

“I’ll wear that negligee again if we go dancing tonight?” And Emma is all puppy eyes and sweet persuasion, an easiness about her now that had slipped away sometime during too many glasses of wine and the tension of something too hot cooking between them.

 

She shakes her head at the antics, drawing her gown closer around herself as Hope kicks in her car seat impatiently. “I’ll go dancing with you even if you wear _nothing_ at all.” Winking at Emma as she makes her way back up to the house, Emma gapes behind her with unabashed laughter that follows her inside.

 

“You should wink more often!” Regina hears, closing the door behind her as she leans against it, her heart thumping twice its normal speed.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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